


Circling To A Close

by tielan



Series: The Greenrider of Pern [2]
Category: Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:02:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28105944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: It's what T'gellan wanted, just not quite the way he hoped.
Relationships: Mirrim/T'gellan (Dragonriders of Pern)
Series: The Greenrider of Pern [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2087667
Comments: 15
Kudos: 70
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Circling To A Close

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snarkasaurus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkasaurus/gifts).



> You indicated that you were willing to take stories beyond the Harper Hall, too, so...I hope you enjoy this!

The weyrlings are off-limits.

In spite of what the holder-bred think, there are rules about the age of candidates in the weyr, and rules about the age of consent, and rules about consent. Oh, there's some flexibility of course, because the rider is also subject to the dragon's desire when it comes to the mating flight, but for the most part...the weyr may be less rigid about sexual mores, but there are still limits to permissiveness.

Since he rose to become weyrleader, F'lar has declared the weyrlings of Benden off-limits to older and experienced riders.

T'gellan has heard the rumours about older riders who took younger riders under their wings and 'nurtured them' - sometimes to the benefit of the younger rider, but often not. There are always some who prefer their partners inexperienced - whether to 'train them up right' or simply to be the elder in the relationship, with all the authority - and that has occasionally turned to emotional dependence and cruelty. When it did, the life and relationships within the weyr were often disrupted, and some of the worse tales raise the hairs on a dragonrider's nape. So most riders are in agreement that the Benden rule is a good one - even the Oldtimers who come with the stories.

And Benden has been looking for a broad range of candidate ages, mindful that the Pass is just begun and that younger minds are also flexible ones. So most of the candidates are still children, anyway.

Mirrim is not 'most candidates'. As the first female greenrider in centuries, how could she be?

There are meetings after Path's impression, regarding how the weyrs will deal with this going forward.

"Wise to set the pattern going forward," Oharan the harper comments when T'gellan mentions the meeting he's called for all the Benden Wingleaders. "Almost certainly there'll be more female candidates for Impressing greens."

"For where Benden goes, Pern follows?" T'gellan asks in droll mockery of Master Robinton.

Oharan winks. "Indeed!"

The upshot of the meeting is simple enough. Mirrim will be trained as any greenrider for the fighting wings, and so long as she reaches the capability of any other rider, will be assigned to one of the fighting wings. There's a little grumbling among several of the older riders about newfangled ideas and girls Impressing fighting dragons, but when Lessa points out that the queenriders fly Falls the grumbling ceases. Nobody's willing to get on Lessa - and Ramoth's - bad side.

"As well they shouldn't," Mirrim says when T'gellan gives her the short version of the meeting after she pesters him. "I hate being on Lessa's bad side, and I've actually been there!"

They're sitting in the warm sand by the lake, just in the shadow of the weyr rim, while Path is stretched out in the sun, her still-growing body gleaming with oil. Mirrim is just wiping the excess oil from her hands with a rag which she drops in the bucket she brought with her and sags a little.

"Tired?"

"It never stops," she says, her voice in the timbre of the half-complaint, half-wonder of all new riders dealing with their growing dragons. "Oil and bathe and eat and oil and sleep and bathe and eat and oil and eat and eat and eat..."

"She's growing fine and well and healthy." T'gellan eyes the fast-growing green as she drowses in the sun. "How are you doing?"

"Oh," Mirrim waves a hand as though to dismiss that thought. "I keep waking up at the crack of dawn, like I have to help in the Lower Caverns. And my body aches all over after looking after Path. At least I can take a private bath - I'd hate to be sharing weyrling quarters with the boys..."

T'gellan would hate her to be sharing weyrling quarters with the boys, too. They've put Mirrim and Path in one of the ground weyrs usually used for convalescing dragons. It's easy for Path to reach and Mirrim doesn't have to share with the adolescent riders who are her yearmates. And if T'gellan sometimes thinks about walking into that weyr and having Mirrim welcome him in...well, that's between him and his dreams.

"The bronzes have been told to look for likely girls who might be interested in riding fighting dragons in future Searches," he tells her after a moment. "Eventually, there may be enough female riders of fighting dragons to warrant a section of the weyrling barracks being separated out."

"Well, good!" One of her green fire-lizards comes down and perches on her shoulder, chirping in an echo of her tone. "Just because I'm the first doesn't mean I should be the last. If girls can be harpers, then girls can be dragonriders - of fighting dragons, I mean!"

T'gellan grins at her insistence. "Of course they can," he says, and in lieu of tracing that rebelliously pursed lip with his finger scratches the fire-lizard - Lok - around the head while the creature preens.

–

When Path joins the fighting wings, Mirrim is well aware that not every rider wants her there. It doesn’t help that many of the older riders are used to seeing her in the Lower Caverns rather than on dragonback, and are hidebound to boot, even if her yearmates are accepting.

It’s her first Fall flying with the wings, and she’s one of four new riders. Path and she dive and duck, dodge and spin, and her dragon’s nimbleness makes her proud as they move with the wing to cut off the Thread before it can reach the Bitran fields below.

A third of the way through the Fall, K’net’s Piyanth calls them out for a quick break before they go back in, and the wing flashes _between_ and soars back down into the weyr in formation.

It’s crazy down on the ground, the latest batch of weyrlings running up with bags of firestone, women from the Lower Caverns bringing water and numbweed salve. As Mirrim reaches for a bucket and slaps numbweed on Path’s only score, down by her tail, she realises that she’s perhaps the only person who’s done all three tasks during a Fall.

“Hey, you! Greenrider!” The peremptory shout comes as she takes the bucket back to the others, because nobody’s come to take it away and the wing’s about to leave. “Some of that here, thanks!”

There’s a bucket that’s closer to the brownrider – less than a dragonlength away, in fact – but Mirrim’s instincts have her taking a step towards the man before Tolly squawks loudly, and she’s reminded that she has responsibilities to her wing, to cover their sides as they cover hers.

“Did you hear me, girlie?”

She shakes her head while her fire-lizards squawk. “You’ve got one closer, and my wing’s about to leave! And that’s Rider Mirrim to you, D’von!”

One of the weyrlings appears and takes the bucket of numbweed from Mirrim’s hand, freeing her up to climb back on Path’s back just in time to strap in and rise with the rest of the wing.

_Piyanth's rider asks if all is well?_

_We’re fine to go,_ Mirrim tells her dragon, before reminding her fire-lizards that they’re not to come with her to the Fall. They’re still squawking as her wing lifts and goes _between._

Later, K’net pulls her aside and tells her that D’von has complained about her disrespect during the resupply during the Fall. He assures her that her riding was fine, and her place in the wing of fighting dragons is secure, but even that conversation leaves Mirrim feeling more than a little raw.

“You look like you could do with a meal and bed.” T’gellan sits down opposite her as she’s catching a quick snack. “Is it D’von? I could have a word...”

“I don’t need you to fight my fights for me,” she says sharply. “He’s hidebound and a piece of work – and always was.”

He grins at her, then, and she wishes that her insides weren’t so susceptible to his smile. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs.

–

In a weyr the size and strength of Benden, with as many queens as there are, a limited number of bronzes are allowed to join the mating flights of the greens. And a bronze that has flown a queen in the last Turn is not permitted to fly a green’s mating flight.

Over the last Turn, and with Monarth’s approval, T’gellan has always managed to be elsewhere when the junior queens rise to mate in Benden and in other weyrs. There’s some good-natured joking among the riders for it, particularly after he leaves a mere candlemark before a junior queen rises in Igen weyr when the rider was angling for him to stay for dinner.

“I heard you missed out on the Igen flight,” says bluerider W’kim mildly one day when they’re crossing the Bowl. “Seems you’re having all the bad luck when it comes to mating flights.”

“Seems so.”

W’kim tilts his head. “Dare I hope you’re going to have the same bad luck when it comes to Path’s mating flight?”

T’gellan grins at the blunt talk and answers in kind. “Not a chance.”

He likes W’kim, even though the other rider has had Mirrim in his bed before. The man may not talk much, but he sees plenty. And he left Mirrim with no complaints about sex, even if the girl has been reserved and wary – and loverless - ever since she Impressed Path.

“Well then,” says W’kim with a quick grin and a lift of his brows, “may the best dragon win!”

He slaps T’gellan on the shoulder and walks away.

Less comfortable is the confrontation with Brekke, diverging from her path towards the lake where Canth is bathing, to intercept T’gellan on his way to breakfast.

He’s not exactly surprised, just discomforted. He would have preferred F’nor.

“You’ve missed the last few mating flights here at Benden.”

“Well, it’s been...a run of bad luck.”

“Or a run of good planning.” Brekke isn’t stupid, just quiet, and she’s protective when it comes to those she loves. “And possibly stupidity.”

“Ah....”

“Mirrim trusts you,” she says sharply. “She thinks you’re a friend.”

“I am. I have always been—”

Brekke eyes him. “Then you already know that the upcoming mating flight has her all turned around. Now, some of that is probably my fault—”

“I don’t—” T’gellan lets himself be cut off by the wave of her hand.

“For a woman who isn’t used to attracting men, the blatant interest in her on account of Path is a painful acknowledgement to face.”

As a former queenrider, Brekke knows about the opportunistic interest of riders.

“I’m not—” T’gellan stops, trying to find the words. He likes Brekke. He wants to reassure her that he’s not like the other riders who didn’t see Mirrim before she Impressed Path. That he’s not one of the ones who aren’t seeing her now – only the fact that she’s a novelty, a prize to be won through her dragon. “Brekke, I will be Mirrim’s friend after the mating flight, no matter what happens. But...I want this chance. I want _her._ ”

He wants her spirit and her laughter and her brusqueness. He wants to be the casual arm flung over her shoulder, the target of her teasing, and the man she blunts her sharp words upon. He wants for Mirrim to look at him the way the Weyrwoman looks at the Weyrleader - _‘with daggers of love_ ’, as Menolly quipped once before she realised T’gellan had heard her and then implored him to never tell the weyrleaders what she said.

When it comes to Mirrim, T’gellan has been patient, and careful, and restrained.

“I want her,” he repeats, because Brekke is watching him.

Her brow furrows faintly, like he’s surprised her – or like she’s just spoken to Monarth and received the same thought. “You really do.”

–

Mirrim thinks the worst of it is never being entirely sure.

Most of the time she doesn’t let it worry her, but there’s no question that the blue and brown riders pay her much more attention than they did before she Impressed Path.

_Hey, Mirrim, did you want to grab a bite after patrol?_

_You’re looking lovely this bright morning, greenrider!_

_Mirrim,Tr’gon and I have an argument going – you have to choose which one of us is right!_

Mirrim knows about mating flights; she's weyrbred after all. But she's never been the focus of one.

The queenriders give her advice as best they can.

_It's a little intense but if you don’t have a preference, then you can just let the dragon choose._

_In all honesty, the most awkward part is waking up afterwards - you'd think some of them were bred in a minerhold!_

_If you have a preference for someone who isn't a rider, then arrange things early on because you aren't thinking when your dragon rises to mate._

But the queenriders are very different to Mirrim of Benden Weyr.

She’s the first female greenrider in living memory – and that includes the memories of the Oldtimers. Oh, there are stories of stories of stories of female greenriders, but they’re more legend than anything else. And she’s not just any female, either – she’s Mirrim of Benden Weyr.

She doesn’t need to be of the Lower Caverns anymore; she still knows and hears the gossip. There are a few riders who wouldn’t mind taking her down a peg or two in a mating flight.

As though Path would give any of them the time of day!

_You are cross. My neck ridge itches._

Mirrim’s scowl softens as her dragon’s head swings down towards her.

“Reppa, fetch the—oh, thank you.” She scrubs the long, glistening neck with the sweetsand bag her fire-lizard has offered her, and accepts the empty bucket her trio offers, filling it and tossing it over the offending ridge. “Better, dear one?”

 _Yes._ Path sits back on her haunches and spreads her wings out, scattering droplets everywhere, and dousing Mirrim in the runoff from her hide.

“Path!” Exasperated, Mirrim still finds herself laughing up at her dragon as she fishes the sweetsand bag out of the lake edge and accepts the nudge of her dragon’s head to get her standing up. “Now I’m drenched!”

“You looked like a drowned wherry,” T’gellan calls from the lake edge, his voice teasing.

She turns, intending to give him a smart retort, before her gaze takes in the riders gathering at the edge of the lake, the increase in the dragons over by the feeding pens, the sudden dizzying heat of the morning sun and the gazes on her in her damp bathing tunic.

Path’s hunger and fury rise in her mind, and desire rises with it.

–

T'gellan wakes from a lazy drowse to Mirrim trying to sneak out of bed.

"Hey," he murmurs, reaching out to lay a hand on her bare back, stroking his fingers down the graceful curve of her spine. "Where's the ThreadFall?"

She freezes beneath his touch, and he has a moment to regret waiting until Path rose to get Mirrim into bed. But what else was he supposed to do?

"Mirrim?" He sits up and presses a kiss to the soft, slightly salty skin of her nape. "Talk to me, dear girl."

"I..." Her voice sounds rusty. She clears her throat and shrugs off his kiss. "Thanks for being gentle."

"You're welcome..." She's just not pleased about it. "What's wrong?"

She starts pulling on her bathing tunic, grimacing at the dampness. "Nothing's wrong? Why would it be?"

"You're just..." In a mood. Which is customary for Mirrim, but T'gellan didn't expect...

All right. Maybe he did expect, just a little. A little more softness, a little more languor. In spite of the rush of dragon-induced desire, he'd kept enough of his mind in the mating flight to take his time, his leisure, and her pleasure. And he'd hoped--

Dragging a hand through his curls, he realises she's about to leave the cubicle and wriggles out of bed, quickly catching her wrist and pulling her back. His arm loops around her waist, anchoring her against him.

"T'gellan!" She tilts her head back at him, glaring. Not scared of him, then, just short. It's a little confusing, but then, this is Mirrim.

"Didn't I... Wasn't it good for you?"

He feels her relax against him for a fraction of a moment, before she tenses up again. "It was fine," she says, swiftly. "But I have things to do--"

Her mouth is tart and tangy as a green citrus, and T'gellan uses all the skills he knows to soften the stiff mouth under his, to persuade her to turn towards him, to have her hands slide up his flanks to his ribs--

She flexes her fingertips in his ribs, causing him to twitch and jerk away. And she's out of his grip and through the curtain - as though that's going to stop him!

He barrels through the curtain, buck naked, catching her up against the wall and pinning her there. He makes sure he has her wrists and that she can't reach his balls with her knee.

"T'gellan!"

"Will you come to my bed some other time?" It's not the question he wanted to ask. It's not the way he wanted to ask it. But it looks like there's no other way with Mirrim unless he's direct about it - and shameless. "Or I can come to yours."

She blinks up at him. "I can't have been _that_ good." Then a flush stings her cheeks and she looks away.

"Maybe it's not about 'good'," he says. "Maybe I just want _you_."

"I..." Mirrim tries to tug her wrists from his grip, but he's wise to her tricks now. "You haven't got a stitch of clothing on--"

"Mirrim..."

"I... Okay, yes!" It comes out hastily.

"Tonight?"

"I-- Not tonight. And tomorrow's Threadfall over Lemos. The day after."

"The day after." He lowers his forehead to hers. "Promise?"

She catches her breath. "Why are you like this?"

"Because I am." He steals the kiss and is relieved when she leans into it. "I want you, Mirrim. Don't forget it."

Her roll of the eye is familiar, although the way she pushes her hips into his is new. "I can tell _that_ , T'gellan."

New or not, this tart resistance is utterly Mirrim. She may not quite be on the same page as he is when it comes to being lovers, but she's not shy, at least.

Now when she shoves him off, he lets her leave, watching her go. And yes, he probably looks a sight standing naked in the hallway with his hands on his hips, but there’s no-one to see, so he only ducks back into the cubicle once she's passed through the curtains that lead out into the Lower Caverns.

T’gellan takes his time getting dressed, in part because he has to go hunting for the buttons of the shirt he was wearing. In her eagerness to get at him, Mirrim ripped half of them off. Which was more than a little gratifying in the moment, and makes him grin even as he contemplates having to sew them back on again.

_Monarth?_

He can feel his dragon's lazy satisfaction as the bronze slowly circles down into the bowl, a smugly satisfied Path at his wingtip. _It was a good flight._

_In more ways than one._

Maybe it's not the ending that he wanted, but it's a start he can work with.


End file.
